A DBZ Day In High School
by Little Natalie
Summary: The DBZ characters are shipped off to your local high school for a funky butt time.


  
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Dragon Ball Z.  
I don't own highschool. I don't want to own highschool. I  
just want to pass gym and graduate.  
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For some reason, none of them could exactly explain why, seven  
Z fighters, all in the prime of their fighing ability, had to undergo  
perhaps one of the toughest challenges of their life. Survive a   
day at highschool. No one except for Master Roshi, who planned  
this as an elaborate prank and a way to see pretty girls in gym  
class. So because of his old, messed up horniness fighters Goku,  
Trunks, Vegeta, Piccolo, Krillin, Android (now human) 18,   
Vegeta, Master Roshi (duh), and Gohan, who has to attend high  
school anyway, are enrolling. Enrolling into high school. Mua ha ha  
ha ha! To keep this fic short, and not really REALLY boring, we'll   
just view one hour of each character's school day. 7 hours in all.  
We'll begin with Trunks- in ceramics class.......  
  
*Ring!*  
  
Trunks walked over to his seat, feeling nervous. It wasn't really too  
hard for him to feel nervouse, given the circumstances. A guy in his  
twenties with purple hair is a slight abnormality in Ceramics 1 and   
attraced a bit of attention. However it wasn't *that* uncommon  
and the students resumed their usual routine as the teacher walked   
in. We'll call her Ms. KaBong, for fun. Well on that particular day  
she announced with great pleasure, that today we'd be starting  
pinch pots. After a quick demo Trunks got on his. Gently, he took a  
large lump of clay in impaled it with his thumb. He the pinched it  
outward to make a pot. He then stuck it in a kiln to bake. In 15   
minutes or so the kiln announced it was done cooking, and Trunks  
removed his pot from the oven. It was a hideous thing. Groteque.  
Deformed. Just-plain-God-awful. Obviously Trunks did not have  
a talent for pottery.  
"Oh well," Trunks said to himself, chucking, "Next   
time Vegeta gives me any trouble, I might just throw this at his head."  
Trunks smiled and got ready for his next class.  
  
*Ring*  
  
Vegeta walked into a large room, full of students with instruments.  
"What's all this?" he asked out loud.  
"It's called a band" an ugly kid next to him said.  
"What?"  
"Here," the kid shoved him his spare clarinet, "Play this."  
"Play? What is the meaning of this? I am a Saiyan warrior! A   
super saiyan! I will not be defaced by such a meaningless weapon of  
idiocy!"  
The band student gave him a funny look and walked off.  
A minute later the band director walked over. He was a very fat man.  
Huge even. I'm not supposed to say this, but he got so big by eating the  
freshmen members at marching band conventions. We'll leave him  
annonymous for now. But those of you who know......  
Anyway the band director came over.  
"So I hear you're not going to play son."  
"What? I'm not your goddamn son. If I was I'd shoot myself."  
The band director continued, "If you don't play you lose your band points  
for the day."  
"Hah! Band points are no match for a super saiyan!"  
Vegeta turned super saiyan and blew Mr. MaCrea....... um I mean annonymous  
to bits. Oh yeah, he also kind of blew up the rest of the band room too.  
The whole class celebrated (except for ugly kid) and Vegeta spent the rest  
of the hour training.  
  
*Ring*  
  
He didn't know how. He didnt' know why. But somehow Piccolo ended  
up in Spanish. He didn't know Spanish. He didn't know Namek and he  
*was* Namek.  
"Hola clase! Como estas?" called the teacher, as she walked in.  
"Estoy bien, senora!" The dutiful class answered back.  
Piccolo said 'Pants'. Somehow that word always seemed to calm his nerves.  
"Como te llamas?" The teacher began.  
"Me llamo Juan." One student answered.  
The teacher moved to Piccolo, "Como te llamas?"  
"Yes my llamas are fine, thanks."  
The class erupted in laughter.  
"Young man if you cannot control yourself you *will* be sent to the office, "  
the teacher lectured, "I don't care if you're a senior."  
"Pants."  
"What?"  
"Nothing, m'am."  
"Okay now, que te gusta hacer? Piccolo?"  
Piccolo jumped with fright, "Ummm. Mucho gusto."  
"That's number two, young man. Three strikes and you're out."  
"Pants."  
"What?"  
"Nothing, m'am."  
"Ok. One more time Piccolo, De donde es?"  
"Ummmm."  
"Soy..." the teacher prompted.  
"Soy milk."  
"All right. That's three. I've had enough of your shennanigans! Go!"  
Piccolo spent the rest of the day in the office.  
  
*Ring*  
  
Master Roshi was happy. All the girls. Beautiful girls. And they were  
*stretching*. Master Roshi spent the rest of the week in gym class.  
  
*Ring*  
  
Krillin and 18 entered the English room. They saw the book they were  
reading, The Odyssey, and ditched class, running as fast as they could   
(which is pretty darn fast). They spent the rest of the day in a private  
hotel room. ^_^  
  
*Ring*   
  
Last hour and Gohan had math. Honors Geometry.  
"Oh well. He said to himself. At least I'm not factoring any trinomials."  
He learned many things that hour. Modus Ponnens. Modus Tollens.  
The law of syllogism. The law of contrapositive. And last of all, direct  
proofs. He didn't really have much to worry about when he left. He was  
getting a 100% in the class (like evey class) and Chi-chi had turned her  
studious eye towards Goten.  
  
*Note- I meant to show you Goku's 5th hour science adventures, but he  
got to lunch and never left. I'm not positively sure, but I think he's still  
there.  
  
  
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Author's note: So? What do you think? Yeah I know it's kind of messed  
up. Oh well. So's my school. So review my fic if you please. I'll be leaving  
now. Lots of homework to do. :( 


End file.
